


An Unjust King

by MercuryShep



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Gaius (Merlin), Pre-Canon, Prince Uther, The parallels between Gaius/Uther and Merlin/Arthur, Their Relationship Devolves over Time, Unhealthy Relationships, Young Gaius and Uther, the great purge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryShep/pseuds/MercuryShep
Summary: At the end of it all, one is forced to recount the place it all started where it all led. Gaius was there at every moment of Uther Pendragon’s rule from coronation to burial.Gaius was there. Gaius witnessed it firsthand.Gaius was there, at the end of it all.
Relationships: Alice/Gaius (Merlin), Background Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gaius/Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois/Uther Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 11





	1. Coronation

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so it is the year 2020 and I have just started watching Merlin for the first time! I jokingly looked up Gaius/Uther fics while I was watching season 2 but then I accidentally got really into it so here is a fic about them. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Uther Pendragon had not always been an unjust king. In fact, in his younger years he had been heralded by many as one of the greatest rulers the kingdom had ever known. The beams of hope radiating from him, gold as the neatly-trimmed hair atop his head, were nearly tangible on the day he was crowned king of Camelot.

And Gaius beamed too, not with hope, but with pride.

He remembered it even now, the softness resting just beneath the surface of Uther’s pooling blue eyes. He remembered when he, as the assistant of the previous court physician, went to fetch some ingredients from the market and noticed Uther at the well, fishing out a frog that had been trapped by its stone walls. When he asked what the prince was doing, Uther whipped around with reddened cheeks and cast a sheepish grin in his direction. Gaius had wondered, then, if the display was an omen of grace and mercy under the reign of the future king.

“Please, allow me, sire,” Gaius offered tentatively, setting his sack at his feet and stepping toward the mouth of the well. Uther, wide-eyed with the embarrassment of being caught assisting such a simple creature, wordlessly stepped aside as Gaius hovered his hands out over the water and spoke in a foreign tongue. The frog slowly began to levitate out of the water, ribbiting in alarm, until it was floating high enough for Gaius to grasp it in his palms. He turned to Uther with a shy smile of his own, bowing his head as he held the frog out for Uther to take.

“Erm,” Uther croaked, standing in a stiff and awkward position for a few moments before reaching out suddenly, as if he had just realized that Gaius was there. “Yes. Thank you. I apologize for my lack of grace. I have never before had the pleasure of bearing witness to sorcery with my own eyes.”

Gaius took a too-long moment to ponder the blue of summer sky in Uther's eyes. To break the uncomfortable silence following the sorcerer’s lack of response, Uther cleared his throat and shifted back on his heels. “Ah!” Gaius stammered, quickly attempting to regather his composure, “Well, your highness, it is a pleasure to be the first.” Then, backpedaling from his daydreams, he took a small bow and stepped backward. “Forgive me, sire, but if you’ll excuse me I must be going about my duties.”

“Right, of course… You’re the physician’s servant, aren’t you?” Uther asked, meanwhile crouching to set the frog into the dirt and gently nudge it off the path. When he stood, he turned to Gaius with an inquisitive expression, pointing towards him with a palm-up hand.

By this time Gaius had already picked up his sack and was turning to leave, but he paused as the prince cast another question towards him. “I am his _assistant_ , not his servant, but yes.” He internally winced at his own sharp tone, hoping not to earn a strike for speaking so freely.

But Uther did not strike him. He only raised a brow and smirked, crossing his arms over his chest in pleasant surprise. “Ah, yes. Assistant.” He took a step closer to Gaius then, making their height difference much more apparent. “Well, physician’s assistant, thank you again for helping me retrieve that frog. We cannot have a dead animal spoiling the village’s drinking water, after all.”

Gaius knew that Uther was using the water as a thinly-veiled excuse for saving the innocent creature. He also knew that, in the weeks following their initial meeting, the multiple mysterious and sourceless illnesses Uther contracted that required him to visit the physician a total of eight times were also only excuses. But this time, as in every time afterward, he did not contest Uther’s words, content in knowing that there was something deeper hiding beneath the prince’s rigid shell.

He remembered the day Uther led his first battalion to victory. It was a harsh, bloody battle and many were lost, but the young prince did not falter. Even the most seasoned soldiers looked to him as a beacon of light in the chaos as the Escetirans closed in. Gaius could still remember the distant shrieks of pain and the smell of enchantment-risen flames that scorched earth and flesh as mages clashed. He could hear wails of mourning as brother lost brother and friend lost dear friend. He worried that his tent would blow away with how heavily he breathed, his chest tight and throat aching as countless soldiers poured in with unspeakable wounds.

When Gaius spoke healing words as quickly as his dry tongue would allow, magical energy rushed from his palms and into the wounded men, the gashes closing rapidly and of their own volition. His master would deal with the more severe cases — severed limbs, impaled hearts and the like — and bark at him to fetch certain herbs or tinctures as necessary. His mind was roaring with so many thoughts, so many panicked what-ifs and what-nows, but in the deepest recesses of his heart he knew that the true reason he felt such turmoil was because he feared for Uther’s life.

The joy that flooded his body like an ocean tempest nearly felled him when he heard the prince’s voice lead the victory cry at the end of the night. His eyes welled with tears and he heaved a great sigh, his smile tight-lipped to keep him from openly sobbing. He accepted the pat on the back his master offered him, allowing his mentor to believe that he was overcome with emotion for the wounded rather than to reveal the urgent longing he felt to see Uther’s face in this moment – to see him, to embrace him, to hold him, and to revel in the high of victory with him.

He remembered the first night that Uther had requested him to his chambers — a late, dark night in the deepest cold of winter. They were older now and Gaius had been named the official court physician, successor to the role after his master had been called away to the Isle of the Blessed and never returned. Despite being new to the title Gaius was confident in his healing skills both magical and scientific, so when the prince called upon him his nerves did not waver his resolve.

Perhaps he did waver some, however, when he arrived in the prince’s chambers and he was not lying ill at all. Rather, he was in the midst of changing into his nightshirt when Gaius entered, his tight-fitting formal wear replaced by clothing loose and flowing. Uther’s arms were already in the sleeves of his shirt and he prepared to slip his head through when he turned and caught sight of Gaius, pausing his dressing as he did so.

“Ah, Gaius. Thank you for coming. I know it is late.”

Gaius bowed his head respectfully in response, dismissing the subtle apology with the reply, “There is no need to thank me, sire. I am always willing to perform my duties, day or night.” He stepped forward slightly, taking a moment to drink in a glimpse of Uther’s broad, bare shoulders and stocky physique. “I do not mean to speak out of turn, your highness, but doesn’t your servant usually do that?” He gestured up and down Uther’s body, “Dress you, I mean?”

“Quite observant you are. You must have a keen eye for detail.” The tone of Uther’s voice was lifted at the corners like the pages of a favorite book, almost playful. Gaius wondered if he might have imagined it. “I have dismissed him for the night already. I am sure he returned home quickly in this biting cold.”

With a nod, Gaius reminded himself not to stare at Uther’s finely-sculpted back as he turned around to finish pulling on his shirt. “Might I ask what ails you, sire?” the physician offered, remaining firmly planted a short distance from Uther, hands folded neatly in front of him.

When the prince turned back around, the wide grin on his face and the glint in his eye shouted mischief. “Oh, it is something most troublesome,” he began, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as he made his way to his bed and sat upon the edge of it. Gaius followed along after him, although he remained standing at his short distance as he awaited with attentive eyes. Under his gaze Uther's smile faltered and his voice fell low, his air of confidence deflating quickly.

“I believe that I am having some… issues... with women.”

Gaius was shocked. He expected a young man of Uther’s stature to be drowning in women who wanted nothing more than to have a moment of his total attention. He dared not add that even he himself had toyed with the fantasy of Uther’s attention more often than he’d like to admit. And not only was Uther a young man, but a young man of the fine and strong Pendragon lineage at that.

He attempted to keep his expression and posture unmoving, impartial to the news as any unbiased physician would be. “What sort of issues do you mean, sire?” he asked, his voice as level as he could manage.

Uther’s face was hot and his gaze was averted to the bedpost, and with a thoughtful purse of his lips he slowly waved Gaius closer. After Gaius approached, he then patted and smoothed a spot on the bed beside him, inviting him to sit down. When Gaius did not sit, the prince diverted his attention from the intricate details of the wooden frame and met the physician’s eyes with an expression that looked pained, as if he was hurt that the man refused his invitation. Gaius reluctantly sat down, and Uther continued.

“Well… when I look upon a woman, I find that she is beautiful, just as women are intended to be. But when I am in bed, alone in my chambers at night…” He paused to make sure Gaius understood the subliminal meaning to his words, “the image of women does not come to me. I fear that there is something wrong with me. Perhaps my mind has wandered too far from reality.” He paused again, meeting Gaius’s face with a searching gaze, as if his soul were diving deep into Gaius’s mind in desperate pursuit of the answer to his questions.

Gaius understood. He understood all too well, in fact. In magic, such fantasies were normal and even encouraged. Some believed that a deep physical connection was an easy way to dispel excess arcane energy from oneself into the body of another. Gaius had never been doubtful of himself in that way. But when a noble man was expected to marry a noble woman and produce heirs to the throne, such ideas seemed like only misguided dreams.

Although it seemed redundant to ask, he couldn’t help himself from wondering aloud, “Who do you imagine, sire?”

He expected the answer to be men, in general, or a certain man in particular. Maybe he imagined the stable boy, with heavy shoulders and bronzed skin from carrying wagons of hay and feed back and forth from the stores every day. Perhaps he imagined his own servant, someone small and demure and ready to be commanded to his every whim. Maybe he imagined Sir Ector, a knight who grew up alongside him, trained beside him, and pledged his loyalty to him; maybe he imagined Sir Ector’s loyalty being tested not only on the battlefield, but in his bedchambers as well.

Yes, there were many worthy targets of the prince’s affections and desires in Camelot, and many more still beyond the borders of the kingdom. The possibilities were endless, really. So when Uther’s gaze locked intensely into Gaius’s eyes, gripping him like fingers around his throat, Gaius did not expect the touch of Uther’s hand on his knee, did not expect how closely he would lean in, did not expect the prince to say,

  
“You.”

  
He didn’t kiss him then, in that moment. In fact, Uther didn’t move at all. He waited there, still and expecting, face red and eyes wide and palms sweating slightly. Gaius thought that Uther could have him right then if he wanted, seeing as he was the prince and he always got what he wanted. But he did not demand Gaius’s submission, and he did not take from him such as he did to his enemies on the battlefield, because these two men were not enemies and this was not a quest over which to triumph. This moment was soft and cautious, gentler than Gaius could’ve ever imagined, so it nearly broke his heart to speak the doubts on his mind.

“Sire,” he breathed, acutely aware of the firm hold the prince still had on his leg, “I don’t know what to say.”

Before he could continue, Uther straightened, clearing his throat and furrowing his brow into its usual hardened shape. “Right, of course. How foolish of me. My apologies, Gaius.” The chill that replaced his hand when he moved it away nearly struck Gaius down like the cold edge of a blade.

“N-No, wait–!” He exclaimed, grasping Uther’s nightshirt on instinct as he stood to walk Gaius out, drawing in a breath at the realization of his actions and quickly releasing the prince with a rushed apology. “Sire,” he began again, gaze averted and voice quavering now, “I only meant to say that… Your status… You’re the prince, and I’m the physician. I’m not of royal blood. The laws–”

“The laws don’t know what goes on behind closed doors,” Uther interrupted. A strange utterance to be made by a prince, Gaius thought. But he did not protest again as Uther came to sit beside him once more, leaning in so closely that Gaius’s face was warmed by his breath.

“Come, Gaius, my bed is warm. I’m sure the poor excuse for bed linens you have in your chambers does nothing against this cold.”

But Gaius did not feel the icy air upon his skin. The adrenaline of fear and excitement roared in his ears and coursed through his veins with vigor. Uther stood and pulled the blankets back, gesturing for him to enter the bed, but just before he did so Uther stopped him with a sturdy palm to his chest.

“Wait,” Uther commanded, and Gaius obeyed. “You need something more comfortable to sleep in, yes?”

“How thoughtful, your majesty,” Gaius stammered, feeling a distinct urge to bow. He was still wearing his robes, but to go all the way to his chambers and back just to fetch his nightshirt seemed frivolous.

Uther nodded and smiled, and Gaius was impressed by how white and straight his teeth were. He hurried to his wardrobe and fetched a spare garment from inside it, taking it then to his visitor and placing it in his palms with an intentional slowness. “This is mine,” he began, “But you can borrow it.”

That much was quite obvious, Gaius thought, but it was really more than that. It was a nightshirt, yes, but not just any nightshirt. It belonged to the prince of Camelot. It was meant to drape delicately so across the bulk of Uther’s arms. It was meant to be worn by only the most noble young man in the kingdom. It was meant for a body never stained by hardship or heartbreak. But in this moment, for this single night, Gaius was given access — a chance to wear the prince’s clothes and sleep in the prince’s bed and bask in the prince’s warmth — a taste of luxury.

He nodded with a deep understanding of this moment, a deep gratitude, a pounding heart. He felt small when Uther’s eyes did not shy from the form of his body as his robes fell away, but he was not ashamed. He wasn’t what most would consider handsome, with a thin frame, hollowed cheeks, deep-set eyes, and long, straight brown hair to his shoulders. But when Uther looked upon him, he felt handsome. He felt beautiful. He felt like his stomach was full of rocks and like he was weightless all at once.

Uther made a sound, a contented hum, which brought Gaius’s attention toward him. His gaze was not hungry as Gaius had expected, but rather respectful, respectful in a way that was reserved for people of high standing, for equals.

And they were equals, when they lay beneath the heavy blankets of Uther’s bed, their desires hidden under layers of cotton and wool, their warmth melding into one unanimous form, their limbs tangled together with a sense of natural familiarity.

They were quiet, gazing into each other’s eyes in a way that felt forbidden, knowing that both of them would be hanged for treason if they were caught, and yet they remained there, nervous and shy and exhilarated all at once. Uther placed his hand to Gaius’s cheek, tentative but firm, and rubbed his thumb across it. Gaius wondered what he had done to deserve the prince’s affections.

Uther kissed him then, in that moment. It was gentle, softer than what seemed fathomable by such a sturdy man. They were wrapped close around one another, protected from the cold, and their lips remained locked for some time. Gaius was met with surprise after surprise on this night. But finally, desperately, he set his fears and inhibitions to the wayside, curling his fingers against the nape of Uther’s neck and pulling him closer, deeper, drinking in the taste of royalty, of the prince’s tenderness and desire.

When their lips parted they said nothing, and it was understood that nothing was to be said. It was understood, too, that Gaius was to leave before sunrise, to return to his chambers quickly and quietly to avoid rousing suspicion from the castle servants.

But for that entire next day he didn’t dare eat nor drink for fear of losing the taste of his majesty’s lips upon his own.

After that, their nightly meetings usually went without saying. Gaius would appear in Uther’s chambers each night with a sleeping draught tucked in a tiny vial, after which the prince would dismiss his servant and his guards. It seemed suspicious to do so, at least to Gaius, but perhaps he was being a bit paranoid. He didn’t have to try hard to forget about all that, though, when he saw that familiar smile on Uther’s face, that expression of relief as false pretenses faded away.

It was on the twelfth night of their meeting that Uther finally bedded him.

The prince, as entirely unexpected, was a generous lover, to put it lightly. Gaius felt sensations in parts of his body where he thought such feelings were not possible. He felt ecstasy and bliss rack his muscles and his mind more than once on that night.

It was a give-and-take, a fair trade, no domination, no control. It was fluid and interchangeable, like waves on the sea. The sounds fogged Gaius’s mind in the best of ways, urging him onward and inward, driving him desperately, urgently, toward anything to pull those sounds from Uther’s throat. His hands wandered freely across the prince’s body, and the prince trusted his hands as they moved.

It was forbidden for a lowly physician to know a noble man, an heir to the throne, as Gaius had now known him. It was forbidden to run his fingers across flexed muscles and trembling arms and panting lips. But Gaius did know him, and his fingers took thorough inventory of Uther’s every curve and crevice. But after that first night, it did not matter what was forbidden and what was not; all that mattered was that they were both willing, both eager, both readily lost in the sight of the other and both so far from letting anything stop them.

And Gaius would never forget that that softness, that quiet gentleness hidden inside that burly man, was reserved only for him. He thought of it now, quite pointedly, in contrast to the fierce and hostile coup Uther had stoked in order to reclaim the throne for his line.

The Pendragon bloodline seemed to be cursed, so the rumours told. Uther’s father went mad in his elder years, then eventually passed once his mental faculties had left him. Uther’s eldest brother Constans succeeded their father, but was killed in a tragic turn of events by a treacherous court advisor. Ambrose, the second-eldest, followed in line, only to then be poisoned by an unknown assassin. In the end it was the traitor Vortigan who assumed the crown of Camelot.

Meanwhile Uther went into hiding, devising and enacting a plan to rally the knights, the armies, the mages and citizens alike against the false king. Gaius himself acted as a spy for his prince, discreetly carrying information along with his daily rounds of medicine throughout the citadel and lower town.

It was a year in the making, but well worth the danger and the sneaking for this moment now. Besides, Gaius had grown quite used to creeping through the castle’s deep shadows over the years of slipping back to his chambers from Uther’s each night. It was this moment, this celebration, this coronation that served as the result of all their hard work. The lives lost, the blood spilled, the villages burned were in the back of the minds of the people now as everyone, but Gaius especially, rang out a singular, unified expression:

“Long live the king!”

And on that night the court physician met the king for the first time in his new chambers. On that night they released a year’s worth of longing, of desperation, of worry and frustration, with a sense of true urgency in their movements and their wordless expressions. On that night Gaius did not leave Uther’s chambers, instead resting soundly until just before dawn. And on that night, Gaius finally realized that he was in love.


	2. Downfall

Love is not a solitary pillar, made to support the deep emotions of only one person for another. No, love is a monument, a great and mighty tower meant to hold and protect all that one may hold dear.

That is why Gaius was not pained by the sparkle in Uther’s eye when he looked upon Lady Ygraine de Bois. The two were expected to make an alliance, a matter of state signified by marriage, but to them it was more than that. After a grand wedding and an even grander consummation, love came quickly for the king and queen. 

Uther asked Gaius to his bed much less often then, and eventually not at all, but Gaius did not mind. He knew that Uther had found another to love and he was glad, because such intense emotions like that which stirred within Gaius each time he shared a knowing glance with the king seemed selfish to hoard all to himself. Besides, now that he had more free time he could delve into his studies of magic with a deeper focus and understanding than before. Sure, he was a man and therefore could never hope to gain as much knowledge as a high priestess, but he was damned if he didn’t try his best for his king.   
  


It was there, buried in the books of one of the old libraries, that Gaius met his second love for the first time. 

“That’s not the enchantment you’re looking for.”

The voice came from over his shoulder, accompanied by a soft hand on his arm. Startled by the disturbance, Gaius jerked his head up towards the one who had approached him with a suspicious frown. The woman, short and soft-framed with rounded cheeks and an impressively long braid of auburn hair, did not seem fazed by his expression. Instead, she simply leaned over him and pressed her finger against the page. 

“Look here,” she suggested, nodding in the direction of the book. Gaius obliged and leaned forward, bringing his candle closer to shed more light. “This spell is used to cure minor poisoning that enters the body through the bloodstream. The spell _you_ want,” she turned the page, “is this one. It is used to heal the effects of ingested poisons.”

Impressive, Gaius thought, though he was too flustered to say so. He simply smiled and nodded at the girl, followed by a polite, “Ah, thank you.”

“Any time,” she replied with a smile, and he took notice of the way the candlelight danced with the brightness in her grey eyes, “I’m here fairly often, when I’m not wandering the villages.”

Gaius leaned his chair back enough that he could turn it to face her, bowing his head respectfully in her direction. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, and stood to hold out his hand for a proper greeting. “My name is Gaius.”

“I’m Alice.” She took his hand and he pulled it up to his lips, pressing a polite kiss to her knuckles, but when she spoke her name he straightened suddenly.

“Alice Rhydderch?” he gasped, eyes widened and jaw slacked. When she nodded he became keenly aware of how painfully dumbfounded he must have looked, so he quickly attempted to regain his composure. “Your reputation precedes you, miss!” He spoke quickly, like his words could not tumble from his lips fast enough, “Your healing skills are rumoured to rival that of the Bendrui, maybe even the High Priestesses themselves!”

At that Alice laughed, a light and flowing sound like the skirt of a silk dress. “I don’t believe I’d come anywhere near the skills that they possess,” she said with a chuckle, “but I appreciate the rumours.”

“Well, you’re young,” insisted Gaius, smiling widely now, “You have plenty of time to catch up to them.”

  
  
  


Looking back on that moment, Gaius realized it had felt the exact same way that it looked when Uther smiled at Ygraine — the admiration, the sense of wonder, the intrinsic desire to be loyal to no end. He realized it was love. It is what drove him to return to that library each night, poring over book after book and glancing over his shoulder repeatedly to check if she was approaching to correct his notes. It is what prompted him to hone his skills in healing magic and science alike (with lessons led by Alice, of course). It is what prompted him to kiss her on the morning that they had spent gathering herbs together in a flowering meadow. It is what prompted him to finally ask her to marry him after several months of courting, and it is what prompted her to say yes.

“Congratulations, Gaius!”

The king tipped his chalice in the physician’s direction, then raised it above his head with a beaming grin. Gaius felt his heart ache with an urgent desire to kiss him. 

“Thank you, my lord.” He smiled warmly across the table where he dined with the king and queen — another invitation into their lives, a glimpse of closeness where he had long since allowed distance. 

Uther chuckled to himself and leaned over to Ygraine, tipping his head toward Gaius before passing him a glance that nearly felt flirtatious. “Who would have thought that Gaius would ever find a woman to marry him?” he teased, although not in a malicious manner. At that the three of them laughed, and it sounded like the strum of heartstrings.

Gaius would come to cherish that laughter, that warmth he had waded in for years, because in the years that followed he thought he may never hear genuine laughter or feel loving warmth again.

  
  
  


Several months passed since his initial engagement to Alice, and every day spent with her was just as awe-inspiring as the last. She always taught him something new, whether about science or magic or about love or even himself, and he always accepted it willingly. Affection did not need to be coaxed from her and did not need to be hidden away at the end of the night. He could hold her hand openly about the town and he could kiss her farewell when her duties called her to a faraway village.

Uther held a feast in their honor within the castle only weeks before they were set to be married. It filled Gaius’s heart to be sat between the two loves of his life, sharing revelry and joy and delicious food. Alice tossed a small tomato in the air and Gaius caught it in his teeth, and Uther gasped and clapped as if he were unaware of the skill of the physician’s mouth.

Ygraine smiled too, chuckling to herself in spite of the heaviness of her belly that caused discomfort with sudden movements. If Gaius’s predictions were correct, she would give birth within the week. If they were lucky the young prince would arrive just in time to attend the wedding.

Gaius wondered, then, if he should invite Nimueh to the wedding as well. She was a friend of Uther’s and an acquaintance of his own, a member of the court on behalf of the Old Religion, but perhaps it was unseemly to invite a high priestess to such an insignificant event in comparison to all the other important things to which she needed to tend. The last time he saw her was when she performed the ritual on Ygraine that allowed her to become pregnant with Uther’s heir. Their relationship was far from casual, but it was not nonexistent. They had spent a few solstices together in the past. Perhaps he would invite her after all, then, when she arrived to congratulate the king and queen on the birth of their baby.

In the amount of time that Gaius had spent pondering, Uther had taken the opportunity to tactically sneak up behind him and smear a handful of strawberry jam across his face. He gasped loudly as the others burst into a new fit of laughter, then Alice quite politely wiped his cheek with her thumb and licked the jam off of it. The redness of Gaius’s face did not wipe away with her touch, however, as warmth rushed to his cheeks at the affection and mischief of his fiancée and his king.

The night that followed the convivial evening was defined by clumsy movements and wine-scented breath. Uther escorted Gaius and Alice back to their home in the upper town — a quaint shack barely large enough for two. The king, once again, was complaining about their refusal to move back into the physician’s chambers. He leaned on Gaius as they walked and the weight was nearly enough to crush him, but it was the closest they had been in a while, so Gaius cherished each moment of it. 

When they arrived at their home, Alice opened the door and Gaius set Uther against the doorframe carefully, allowing him a sturdy surface on which to prop himself. He whispered a slurred enchantment into his palm, sending a conjured butterfly in the direction of the nearby guards’ post as a signal for them to escort the king home.

“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to live in the citadel,” Uther whined, leaning his head forlornly against his arm. “This place is so much smaller than the physician’s chambers. Besides, you’re so far away now. What if Ygraine goes into labor and you’re not there? What if I am poisoned in my sleep and you do not make it to the castle in time?” He seemed so serious and sad, like a dog without its master.

Gaius then reached up and squeezed his firm shoulder, not as his physician, but as something else entirely. “Uther, you know I will always be at your side when you need me.” And the three of them knew he meant it.

  
  
  


Who could have known that that statement would be put to the test so fiercely, and so soon?

  
  
  


The day came that Ygraine was to give birth to her first child. A joyous occasion, or so it was supposed to be. But as the boy drew his first breath, the queen released her last, and the king’s tears of joy were washed away by a flood of panicked wails. Gaius looked on helplessly as Uther’s tender heart was shattered.

“Gaius, _do_ something!” Uther shouted, his voice cracking beneath the urgency of his demand. “Please, I’m begging you, save her!”

Gaius cringed at the words, his own eyes welling with tears at how pitiful the unfolding scene was. He passed the babe to Ygraine’s servant, then used his free hands to rub Uther’s back. The queen’s chest was not rising, her pulse no longer visible in the veins on her neck. He did not even have to touch her to know she was gone. “Death is an affliction that not even I could reverse, sire. Only a high priestess could hold power over such a force.”

With wide eyes of realization, Uther looked up at Gaius from where he sat on his knees and pleaded with a heart so torn that the physician thought he too might die. “That’s it,” he gasped, gripping Gaius’s arm firmly. “Nimueh! Bring Nimueh at once!”

He knew that it was physically impossible for him to travel all the way to the Isle and back before it was too late, but he did as he was told anyway. He placed a hand over Uther’s for a moment, wishing deeply that he could just hold the king in his arms as they mourned, before slipping his arm from Uther’s grasp and rushing out the door.

Gaius ran to the stables and fetched a horse from it, untacked and unprepared to ride. There was no time to spare in readying the steed, so he mounted the horse bareback and kicked it into a full gallop as soon as the gate was opened. He willed the creature faster and faster, murmuring enchantments to give it strength and speed, and prayed to the Goddess that Ygraine could be healed, for Uther’s sake. When he arrived at the lakeshore a boat waited for him and he shouted commands for it to propel toward the island as quickly as possible, faster than any man could row.

He fetched Nimueh, as the king had asked, and she could do nothing to stop the death of the queen, as he had suspected. At the sight of Ygraine upon her deathbed the High Priestess collapsed to her knees, utterly speechless at the sight. Tears streamed from her cheeks and she clambered to the king’s side, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder in genuine solace.

“Uther, I’m so sor—” Before the words could finish forming in her mouth, Uther grabbed her by the wrist with a fury that made hellfire seem like a comfortable spring morning. 

“No,” the king growled, standing and yanking her closer to him so he could meet her eyes with no trace of the friendship they had once forged. “You did this. You used unnatural magic on her! Do something to fix this, Nimueh, or you will be hanged for treason.” With that he tossed her to the ground, and for the first time Gaius saw one of the most powerful women in the land look so small and so powerless in the king's eclipse.

Nimueh sobbed openly now, groveling at Uther’s feet and grasping desperately at the hem of his trousers. “Uther, please, you _must_ believe me. I didn’t know it would be her. I wouldn’t have done it if I had known the life to be traded would be hers!” She faltered, whimpering as he pulled away from her touch. “She’s your wife, Uther! I would never hurt her!” If anything was more painful than watching Uther bury his face into Ygraine’s hair as he cried, it would be this.

“And yet you have.” The king’s voice was rigid now, stony like the exterior he had once walled around himself before Lady Ygraine came along to dismantle it those few years ago. Then, in a militant bark, he shouted, “Guards!”

A pair of armored men entered the room, shoving past Gaius as they dragged Nimueh to the dungeons, her screams and pleas faded into a whispering echo as the distance between them greatened.

Gaius, shocked, took a step toward Uther and said, “Sire,” but Uther silenced him with a raised hand.

The king took a moment to smooth his garments and clear his throat, pushing his hair back before he stepped past the physician with no eye contact. “Bring my son to the guest chambers,” he ordered, not breaking stride as he left the room with Gaius in the riptide of his disastrous wake.

That was the night Uther lost his heart, and Gaius’s, so hopelessly intertwined, was lost along with it.

  
  
  


In the days following, Gaius did not recognize the king any longer. He remained in the physician’s chambers to be close to Uther in case he needed him, and Alice came to visit from time to time, but they knew that the sight of soon-to-be-wed lovers would not bode well with Uther, so they remained cordial when walking about the castle.

The king did not summon him nor did he bring any news. Uther remained locked in his chambers for days on end with no one allowed to enter save for the child’s wet nurse. But finally, on the fifth day, something drew him out.

“The king demands your presence at once,” a knight announced, and Gaius paid no mind to the vials that shattered at his feet as he dropped them and rushed after the knight at a full sprint. 

“Where is he? What has happened?” he demanded, tossing all courtesies and social rules to the wayside. The knight gave him no answer, but Gaius knew the castle well and quickly concluded that they were heading to the dungeons.

When they arrived, Uther stood hunched over a handful of crumbled stones, trembling with anger barely contained by his flesh. He lifted his head at the sound of Gaius’s approach, glancing over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the rubble. In the side of the dungeon wall there was a gaping hole, blasted open by a tremendous force. Nimueh was nowhere to be seen.

“Did you help her escape?” the king muttered when Gaius announced his presence, to which Gaius was prompted into a shocked moment of silence. Uther rounded on him suddenly, and if Gaius had ever forgotten how much Uther towered over him, it was blatantly apparent in this moment. “Did you help her escape?” he repeated, each word slow and deliberate. 

For the first time, but unfortunately far from the last, Gaius was scared of what Uther might do to him if he answered incorrectly. “No,” he whispered, voice trembling.

In a furious roar Uther lifted his arms and slammed the handful of rubble against the wall so hard that it obliterated the stones into dust that clouded around them. “I want her found,” he commanded the guards, “and I want her killed.”

When Uther looked upon him, he felt his heart tighten. His eyes, once thoughtful oceans, were now as cold as ice and as hard as stone. The softness was gone from him, and Gaius did not blame him for that, but it hurt just the same.

In the days that followed, Gaius found mercy in Alice’s smile and blessed sanctuary in her arms. He mourned for Ygraine, for she was a friend. He mourned for Uther, the part of him that died at his wife’s bedside. But more importantly, he remained hopeful that once the debris of this tragedy settled, he would have Alice by his side and Uther in his heart. Perhaps a piece of himself would reside within Uther, too.

  
  
  


It was on the night before his wedding that Gaius was called to the king’s quarters for a second time. He and Alice were sharing a warm meal — Alice’s own recipe for stew — when a heavy rap on the door startled them. He peered out the window carefully and saw it was a guard; he opened the door and almost mechanically the man spoke.

“The king requests your presence in his chambers immediately.”

“Thank you, I will be there at once,” Gaius replied, and gently closed the door with an apologetic frown in Alice’s direction. She reached out to him and he approached, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I won’t be long,” he assured her with a smile, and tossed on his robes over his nightclothes.

“You’d better not,” she teased, the corners of her mouth hinting at rascality, “or else I’ll be a frail, shriveled old woman by the time I see you again.”

The walk from the town to the castle was a brisk one, because although she jested Gaius knew Alice was serious when she told him not to doddle. He jogged up the steps to the royal chambers and nodded respectfully to the guards posted at the door before placing a familiar knock on the heavy wood.

“Enter,” Uther replied, and Gaius obeyed. He bowed his head, a courtesy he had never grown out of, and awaited the king’s words.

Uther did not turn around as he spoke, instead staring out the window over the citadel below. “I have made an important decision, Gaius,” he began, “one that may change the fate of Camelot forever.”

“Sire?” Gaius prompted, looking up now with a face of concern. Something about the statement unsettled him.

“Over the past several weeks I have been drafting a series of new laws. I was tentative about them at first, but Nimueh’s escape from the dungeons then solidified my resolve on the matter.” Gaius approached slowly as the king spoke, cautiously glancing over at the parchment sprawled across Uther’s writing desk. “Beginning tomorrow, all users of magic will be purged from this kingdom. Anyone who is suspected of sorcery will relinquish their powers in the name of Camelot or will face the punishment for treason.” He stopped now and turned, staring pointedly at Gaius, who was now standing behind the desk and thumbing through documents.

Gaius’s throat was dry and his heart pounded like he had just run a mile, with sweat beading along his hairline and on his palms. “This is quite a drastic measure, sire,” he croaked, voice nearly cracking as he came across a piece of parchment he had not yet read.

On this page a list of names was written, a list of known magic users who were slated to be killed. He distinctly noticed that his own name was not on the list, although he knew Uther was aware of his magic. He would have almost felt grateful not to see his name, if not for the name near the top of the list that he had never hoped to see — Alice Rhydderch.

“Drastic measures are to be taken when the kingdom is under attack!” Uther spat, rushing forward to stand before Gaius with an intimidating grimace. “Nimueh will be officially banished from the court along with the announcement of the new order at dawn. All followers of the Old Religion will be considered allies of Nimueh and therefore enemies of Camelot.” His intense gaze broke its lock on Gaius’s face and made its way down to the list he held in his fist. He reached up and squeezed Gaius’s hand with his own but it felt nothing like Gaius remembered. “Ah, good, you’ve found it. Efficient as always, Gaius.” The king smiled with a wickedness that turned his stomach. “It is your duty to gather the people listed here and bring them before the court by tomorrow morning.” 

Gaius felt like he might vomit at the realization of what was happening. He knew exactly why he, of all people, was tasked with this. It was a test of loyalty — a challenge. Uther expected Gaius to stay by his side, _wanted_ him by his side, but made it clear in this moment that no matter how many times he had offered Gaius a step into his world, they were not equals. Uther was the king and Gaius was his subject, and he was to obey the laws set forth or suffer the consequences. Still, he could not stand by the wayside without speaking up on behalf of his brethren. “Not every sorcerer is a follower of the Old Religion, your majesty,” he countered, his voice timid.

“But _you_ are, Gaius, are you not?” The words dripped like venom from Uther’s mouth as he took a step closer, their bodies so close that the hair that stood up on Gaius’s arms could nearly brush against him.

Gaius paled so quickly that he felt a rush of dizziness from the blood loss. He swayed, but steadied himself by taking a step back. His eyes were wide; the decision was clear — choose the king or choose death. “I… I am a follower of your command, my lord.” His gaze dropped to the floor, dark and weakened like the words in his throat. “I am a loyal servant of Camelot.”

There was a moment of silence, then a squeeze on Gaius’s shoulder. “Good,” said Uther, “Then you will do what is needed for your king and the kingdom. See you at dawn.”

  
  
  



	3. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Great Purge encircles Camelot with its great claws, but none as sharp or unyielding as the bitter look in Uther's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for implied emotional and/or sexual abuse

The Great Purge marched on for what seemed like years, trailed by a path of spilled blood and choked screams. It began as a massacre; countless of Gaius’s closest friends, former lovers, and humble educators were slaughtered by Uther’s hand. Dozens were hanged in the center of the citadel, with crowds of confused and shocked onlookers standing by. Dozens more were burned at the stake, and many were drowned beyond that.

Most died gracefully and with dignity, going in silence to the gallows with pride in who they were and how they had lived their lives. Some had to be dragged through the veil forcefully as they fought to escape the clutches of the knights who had once sworn to protect them. Each time another witch or warlock was cast into the well, sputtering and struggling and clawing at the stones until their fingers were bloodied, Gaius wondered if the king was concerned about spoiling the drinking water.

There was a bitterness between them now, a wound freshly torn and unready to heal. On the night before the new law was set in place Gaius immediately rushed all the way from the castle to his home, unable to take a break for breath until he barreled through the door so hard it nearly fell off its hinges. His bride-to-be, quite alarmed, sat up in her bed with a mumble of confusion and concern. He demanded that she leave immediately, taking nothing with her but the clothes on her back and her knowledge of survival. Alice was reluctant to leave him, but she knew that if anyone was certain of the king’s intentions and capabilities it was Gaius, and he was insistent that she would not survive the morning if she remained in Camelot. So she left, and he struck her name from the list, and in the morning he took the brunt of the king’s frustrations in the throne room just before he was to announce the ordinance to the court.

“You let her escape!” Uther snarled, slamming his fist angrily to a pillar. “You betrayed me! You betrayed Camelot! You are an enemy of the state and of the people of this land!”

The hair on Gaius’s neck stood on end at the seething rage emanating from the king, the heat of it threatening to burn up all the oxygen in the room. “I did nothing of the sort, your majesty,” he insisted, “I told you, she left on her own.” He swallowed dryly, the sting of held-back tears threatening the integrity of his words. “She must have gotten cold feet about the wedding, sire.” His voice cracked at the mention of his shattered marriage, but he dared not break under Uther’s heavy gaze.

Piercing eyes bore into him – a falcon locking in on a mouse. Uther stepped toward him slowly – a lion stalking a gazelle. When he spoke the words sunk in deliberately, excruciating as a dull knife. “Do you swear to me on Ygraine’s life that you are telling me the truth?”

Gaius lied through his teeth without flinching. “I swear, sire, on her life and on mine.” It hurt to be deceptive to the one man with whom he thought he could always be honest. It did not hurt quite as much, though, as the expectation placed upon him to turn on the woman he loved without hesitation or remorse.

At least Uther was convinced. He straightened, taking a step back before turning away to walk to the throne with an intimidating calm and formality. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said, and Gaius took it as a dismissal. As soon as he left the throne room and rounded a corner out of sight of the guards, Gaius leaned back against the wall and slid down it until he was slumped with his knees to his chest, finally allowing himself time to cry and to mourn the woman he would never see again.

  
  


He knew what it all meant, deep down. He knew that Uther would never have allowed him to be happy while he stood by and suffered. His love had once been so generous, so selfless, but death had changed him for the worse.

He was a selfish man now, and a selfish king. He had always been a warrior, of that no one had a doubt, but no one had ever expected him to wage a war on his own people. Gaius knew that if Uther couldn’t be happy, no one could, and Uther would never be happy as long as he continued this way. The war in Camelot would rage on for as long as war raged on in Uther’s heart; he blamed himself for Ygraine’s death, but rather than accept that as fact he preferred to erase every person from the earth who had magic in their veins, every mirror who reminded him that toying foolishly with the forces of Fate would always result in Fate striking back. 

And the war inside him was not sated by battle alone. In the months following the loss of the queen, Uther indulged in every debauchery of the flesh and of the spirit. At the sudden loss of population there was an excess of all rations and materials from which the king took readily. He drank heavily and often, hosting grand feasts with the kingdom’s aristocrats to drown out the wailing of orphaned children and widows in the city square below. As Camelot’s most loyal knights toured the lands and executed the new order at every settlement, the king toured their beds and kept company with their wives. He brought none to his own chambers, though. None but Gaius.

At first Gaius had tried to convince himself that he agreed to Uther’s advances to try and regain some sense of normalcy, to lay beside the king and feel a little less alone, but as weeks went on he found that he felt less whole than ever. Nights with Uther were a tiring endeavor both for the body and the soul. Uther was rough and harsh, the gentle warmth that once swirled just beneath his surface now a jagged glacier that Gaius crashed into again and again. It was not intimate, clothes still on, bodies shoved against a wall or tossed across a table, never looking one another in the eye and barely speaking a word. They almost never took the bed; the place beside Uther was hallowed now, and Gaius could no longer claim a position there.

Every night Gaius thought that Uther might finally say something, _anything_ , that indicated his feelings about the Great Purge or his feelings about losing Ygraine or if he still had feelings at all, but such a night never came. Despite this Gaius continued to return to the king’s chambers every night. Perhaps he just wanted to feel something. Perhaps he could reminisce in the idea of sharing his body with another. Perhaps deep down he wanted to be punished by the king’s hand for his crimes against his brethren on the pyre. 

But eventually, finally, he could take no more. He needed to escape if only for a moment, if only for a night. For the first time in weeks, he did not go to Uther after the setting of the sun. No, he went away, far away, as far as his horse could ride in a night. He rode to the White Mountains, desperate to wall off his mind with sheer faces of stone and drown out his thoughts with the whistling of the wind. It was dark and cold and even his horse could not navigate the craggy ledges or narrow precipices, so eventually he dismounted and slumped to the earth, regretting everything. 

At some point he must have fallen asleep because his heavy eyes opened to the greeting of the near-dawn grey and a rush of warm air on his face. The source of the unexpected warmth stretched before him with a vastness that sent needles pricking down his spine. Teeth. Tongue. Breath. A cavernous maw stared back at him, larger than the jaws of any animal he’d ever seen, comparable only to his imagination of the magical beasts in old books. Refusing to move for fear of being eaten, Gaius raised only his eyes to examine the rest of the creature.

Even in the dimness before the waking of the sun, scales glinted gold like a chest full of treasure. Claws longer than swords gripped the mountain’s stone face. Eyes, amber like the heart of a log in the king’s hearth and wide as the moon, gazed upon him patiently and unblinking. The silhouette was unmistakable.

“Dragon,” he breathed, a sound that left his throat on instinct.

The dragon acknowledged him, inhaling and drawing in all the warmth around Gaius with such force that the tips of his hair danced in the current. 

“Gaius,” said the dragon, the word momentarily relieving the air of its hanging frost. 

Of course Gaius had heard of dragons before. They were graceful creatures with knowledge of the ages and a propensity for holding grudges. He had thought they were all but extinct. Apparently there should’ve been an emphasis on ‘ _but_.’ He didn’t know whether to remain still or stand or bow down, to meet the dragon’s eyes or to avert his gaze.  
  
“You’re nervous,” the dragon said plainly, its voice carrying a hint of amusement behind it. “Do not fear.” The statement did nothing to ease the churning in Gaius’s stomach. “You felt an immovable desire to come here on this night, did you not? It was Fate who brought you to my lair. Do not pull on the threads of the Triple Goddess’s grand tapestry, Gaius, and do not resist my warning.”

Gaius’s breath was caught in his throat so he could only nod along to the drake’s words. His knuckles ached from gripping the stone beneath him, but he felt if he let go the dragon’s great breath would knock him cleanly off the side of the mountain.

“Your destiny is laid out before you, Gaius, to be part of the Great Prophecy.” The dragon opened its mouth to continue, but to its surprise was interrupted. 

“ _The_ Great Prophecy?” Gaius blurted, eyes widening even more than they had been previously. He leaned forward with anticipation, sprawled on his hands and knees like a dog in the face of the majestic beast of Old. 

“Yes, _the_ Great Prophecy. Magic has always been a sacred thing, Gaius, and yet your friends and neighbors are being slain upon the sword of the king because of it. You have not stood up to his injustice because you fear Uther will capture your fiancée and burn her on the pyre, do you not?” The dragon did not wait for an answer as Gaius had long been rendered speechless. “The love you feel for Alice is courageous. One day a young and powerful warlock will arrive in Camelot and you will love him like a firstborn son. Let your love for others and your love for magic guide you through this dark time. Do not fight it; do not interfere. It may seem that the Old Ways will be wiped from this land, but the Once and Future King of Camelot will one day bring magic back to Albion. The young warlock in your protection will serve as the spark that reignites the flame in the king’s heart. It is your duty to protect him with your love, just as you protect Alice now.”

As soon as the great dragon was finished speaking it blinked pointedly at Gaius and spread its great wings, taking flight with a force that sent the settled snow flurrying in all directions. Gaius lifted his arm to his face to protect himself from the whipping ice and when the wind had died down enough for him to look up again the golden creature was nowhere in sight.

A high-pitched, dissatisfied bray drew Gaius’s attention and he remembered belatedly that he must have tied up his horse before he slept. He scrambled to his feet, his extremities now painfully aware of the lack of dragon’s breath to warm them, and released the knot in his horse’s reins. After giving the gelding a comforting pat on the neck, he led his mount back down the mountain path until it was safe enough to get back into the saddle, then rode distractedly for the entire day’s trek back to Camelot. 

  
  


“Gaius!” Uther’s voice echoed through the Great Hall when he glanced up from the parchment a courier was holding out for him to sign. It was not an exclamation of relief or greeting, but a growl of anger like water threatening to boil out of its pot. 

He approached timidly as the king waved the courier away in a dismissal similar to the swatting of flies. When Uther was angry his chest expanded and his shoulders broadened, which could have been attractive to Gaius if not for the anger being directed at him. 

“Where have you been, Gaius? Abandoning your obligations as the court physician? What if my son had fallen ill in the night? What if one of my knights had been gravely injured by a rebellious witch? Your position is highly coveted, Gaius, and if you are unwilling to perform your duties you could be easily replaced.” 

Uther spoke quickly, his voice jagged and piercing like daggers, and in his seething Gaius half-expected a forked tongue to poke out of his mouth or steam to rise from his ears. But he knew that the king was not angry because he worried for the prince; he was angry because for the first time Gaius had not bent to his will, had not offered himself willingly to the man who stripped everything from him. Perhaps Gaius should’ve felt grateful that he was the only person in the world who could defy Uther’s desires and survive. Instead he felt hollow, as if the thing that kept him alive had already departed long ago.

“My apologies, sire,” he responded dryly, unable to meet Uther’s blazing eyes. He bowed his head to the king, a man he thought he had once known.

Uther shifted his weight on his heels, obviously dissatisfied with the answer but unable to bring himself to speak what was on his mind. Gaius noticed that Uther ran his thumb over his curled fingers in the way he always did when he was thinking deeply, about to apologize or cry or finally let down his stone-thick walls. But then, decidedly, Uther’s hand curled into a fist and he straightened, his face lined and pinched with seriousness.

“Do not let it happen again.”

  
  


It was several weeks before Gaius entered Uther’s chambers again, as Arthur was old enough now to have his own room (under vigilant observation by a team of nurses and guards). Since Gaius had spoken to the dragon, things were different. He allowed himself to focus more on his duties and less on his guilt. He did not need to punish himself under Uther’s firm hands. Beneath his shame there was a flicker of hope, and that was all he needed to continue on.

Camelot’s army had once employed several sorcerers as soldiers, using their skills in magic to aid the kingdom in battle. When the order was given to cleanse Camelot of sorcery, Uther had not accounted for his formally-trained warlock soldiers to fight back. Recently the king had taken to personally slaying magic users to reignite fear in his dissenters and fuel the raging fire in his heart. He had sustained a painful wound in his shoulder after attempting to take down a sorcerer skilled in swordsmanship, but he refused to admit any weakness.

“A salve for your wound, sire,” Gaius said as he entered, moving quickly with his head down to set the vial on a nearby table and retreat. But as he crossed the room he was slowed by the sound of sniffling and quiet whimpering. 

Gaius looked up, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He could make out the shape of a slumped figure leaning over the side of the bed, shaking with the weight of heavy sobs. “Uther,” Gaius said, with genuine concern that had not tinged his voice since they were barely more than boys. He stepped closer hesitantly until he could discern the king’s face in the soft glow of the bedside candle. 

Uther’s face was twisted in pain, his arms wrapped around himself as he rocked back and forth in a pitiful attempt at self-soothing. His eyes were red and his face was wet with tears and snot and drool. His lips trembled; his chin quivered. When Gaius approached and spoke his name he did not look up, instead only a strained whine rasped from deep in his throat.

To Gaius’s surprise it was not the pain of the wound that troubled the king so deeply, for when he reached out to place a comforting hand on his back Uther immediately reached up and wrapped his arms behind Gaius’s waist, burying his face in the soft warmth of his middle. “Uther,” he said again, his body stiffened at the unexpected affection and his voice trembling with the effort of staving off the vast combination of emotions that stretched him so thin he might tear.

“It was my fault,” Uther murmured, his already weak voice muffled by Gaius’s tunic. When he looked up his expression reminded Gaius of a kicked dog. “Oh, Gaius, how could I have been such a fool?”

“What do you mean?” Gaius asked, honestly uncertain, because to him it seemed that nearly everything Uther had done over the past several months had been both foolish and entirely his fault. Instinctively he ran his fingers through the king’s golden-brown hair as he spoke, a ghost of what used to be genuine affection.

Instead of answering the question Uther broke down into another sob, his body rattled by the roughness of it. When he was able to breathe again, he whimpered, “It’s Vivienne.”

Gaius was much more acquainted with Vivienne than he would ever admit to Uther, but to save face he asked, “Gorlois’s wife?”

Only a few short months ago, when the drownings began, Vivienne had called upon Gaius to take her infant daughter Morgause to the Isle of the Blessed where she would be safe from Uther’s murderous grasp. They had colluded in secret for weeks to plan the escape and accustom the babe to Gaius’s touch before he finally did it, wrapping the child in cloth and placing her in the bottom of his horse’s saddle bag as he feigned a supply run for herbs. He was good at sneaking and lying now. His expression gave no hint that he had ever spoken to Vivienne besides in passing at feasts or balls.

“She’s pregnant,” said Uther, the word tumbling from his mouth like stones, “so soon after the loss of her last child.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Gaius replied, forcing down the creeping dread that curled its icy fingers around his spine. It was much too early for her to be having another baby and a death wish to have a baby born with magic. 

Uther gripped him tighter, pulling him down to sit beside him on the bed. “No, it’s not,” he sobbed, burying his face in the warmth of Gaius’s neck. “It’s mine, Gaius. The baby is mine.”

A dagger of ice ran Gaius through the heart. _The baby is his_. His limbs felt numb but he threw them readily around Uther to comfort him, to hold him like he held him through the loss of his brothers and the nightmares of battle. A thousand thoughts echoed through his mind at once, but the one that rattled loudest was the fear of what may happen to the kingdom if any ill consequence befell the child. He feared for his life and the lives of all in Camelot if Uther’s heart was broken again. 

There was silence as Gaius didn’t speak, so Uther spoke again. “Gorlois is a good friend of mine and my most loyal knight, yet I claimed his bed as no honorable man should.” His voice was dry and cracked, a sound that reminded Gaius of hay underfoot as he and Uther would sneak to the stables to play sticks when they were boys. “He was off in the far villages when he should’ve been at home with Vivienne. All of them should’ve been here, keeping their wives company through the winter.” He shuddered feebly like a sickly child.

Gaius could feel the pressure between his shoulder and Uther’s throat as Uther swallowed dryly, aching from the strain of extended crying. He gave the king’s waist a squeeze, reminding him of his comforting presence.

“Instead they were out terrorizing our own people, slaying our citizens at my command. Some have fallen in the battle. Some fought against their former brothers-in-arms, watching life leave the eyes of their brethren on the ends of their own blades. Oh Gaius, what have I done?”

For a moment the small flicker of hope inside Gaius burst into flame, reminded of the dragon’s words: the king of Camelot would restore magic to Albion. He wondered, now, that if he showed his love and support to Uther he would realize the error of his ways and stop the Purge. He pressed his lips to Uther’s forehead thoughtfully, then frowned as pondered the rest of the dragon’s message. There would be a boy who would come to him, who would bond with the king and teach him to love magic again. That boy was not him. That was not his role to play, and Uther was not the prophesied king.

But when he saw Uther like this, crumpled under the weight of his regrets and desperate for guidance, he was reminded of the boy with the big heart who had made him fall in love again and again. He couldn’t save Albion by loving Uther, but he could at least keep himself and the king from falling to pieces with loneliness and guilt. 

Gaius stood. Uther protested with a grunt of disapproval, but allowed his arms to fall to his sides. In a few quiet strides Gaius picked up the vial of healing salve and returned to Uther’s bed, cautiously climbing into it and sitting cross legged behind him. Uther did not move and did not protest as Gaius slowly tugged his bedshirt upward. Gaius felt his face grow hot at the sight of the exposed skin, reminded of the first time he was called to Uther’s bed. Slowly he uncapped the vial and poured the ointment onto his hands, snaking them up the back of Uther’s shirt until he reached his injured shoulder. He rubbed small, careful circles into the wound and Uther winced, sucking in a breath through his teeth at the touch. Gaius knew that he could heal the wound with just a few magic words, but he refrained. The night before the Purge when he was forced to pledge his loyalty came to mind. 

The two sat in silence for a long while, Gaius rubbing Uther’s shoulder and Uther sniffling intermittently. When Gaius was done, he realized that this was his first time to sit in Uther’s bed since before the Purge began. The thought filled him with such joy and pain that he decided it was too much to bear, so he sighed through his nose and stood to leave. “Your highness,” he said, and bowed his head. 

“Things will be different, Gaius,” Uther croaked, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “Things will change.”

Gaius smiled at that, at the idea that Uther could change his ways and let this whole thing diminish into the past. It was a lie. He knew that. But for that night he went to bed with a warmth in his belly like a flower’s first bloom after an impossibly long stretch of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've seen me raise the chapter count by 1 every time I post a new chapter, no you haven't!


	4. Burial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter includes reference to a consensual, but unhealthy sexual relationship
> 
> This chapter also includes a direct quote from Season 4, Episode 3 - The Wicked Day.

Every night after the one when Uther finally admitted to regretting his atrocities against his people, Gaius returned to Uther’s chambers to apply a salve to his wound. Soon they fell into a ritual that went without saying, like those years ago when they stole away into bed each night. Gaius would enter with the king’s medicine and Uther would take a seat in his writing chair, shirtless with his back turned to the physician. Gaius, like clockwork, would begin to rub Uther’s shoulders and apply the salve in silence. Upon his delicate, careful touch, Uther would begin to cry. 

Sometimes Uther spoke about what weighed upon him, but most of the time he would cry and simply be comforted in knowing Gaius would not see it as weakness. When they had both finished their respective routines, Gaius would help Uther into his nightshirt and say good night to him. 

Sometimes the king would invite Gaius into his bed, to sleep beside him and keep him company. Sometimes Gaius agreed. There was no longer the passionate, electric spark between them that had crackled in the air like flame when they were young and in love. Instead there was a slow, steady warmth, embers with the memory of heat at their core. They held each other, limbs tangled, skin touching skin. Gaius sometimes caught himself holding his breath as if exhaling would accidentally blow out whatever new tenderness had kindled within Uther.

However that tenderness, that lowering of defenses each night when Gaius arrived with the vial, was not reserved for the magical creatures of Camelot.

Since Uther had decided to stop ordering raids on the villages each day, he turned his attention instead to the magical beasts that ruled the wilderness. It seemed that although he regretted killing people in the name of order, his hatred for magic was deep-seated and unshakeable. In his eyes magic had taken Ygraine to the grave, and he would not rest until magic itself was buried alongside her. 

First were the smaller beasts: serkets, trolls, goblins and the like. Occasionally a group of young knights eager to prove themselves would return from the Forest of Balor with a slain cockatrice in tow, though usually a man or two short from their departing numbers. At least twice the warriors claimed to have slain a bastet in the forest, although the only bodies they found were those of the maidens the creatures had supposedly killed.

The hunt enlivened the men of Camelot. Uther, on the other hand, was spurred onward by his own regret, prodded to more and more heinous acts like cattle to a grazing field. To compensate for his guilt he worked even harder to keep up his rigid appearance as he sat upon the throne. Instead of giving up his crusade and lifting the ban on sorcery as Gaius desperately hoped he would, Uther upped his reputation as a sworn enemy of magic in all its forms.

He kept a collection of creatures and carcasses in the vaults below the castle to serve as trophies of his endeavors. He kept a goblin locked in a lead box. He kept the head of a cockatrice, rumored to retain its powers even beyond death. He collected amulets, bracelets, crystals, and chalices from the many sorcerers slain by the hand of his knights. 

“It’s to protect them from themselves,” Uther told him once, as Gaius wordlessly kneaded the king’s shoulder. He was mostly reasoning with himself, it seemed, though he glanced occasionally in Gaius’s direction as if seeking approval or agreement. The physician’s expression remained neutral. “If they no longer have access to the items that give them power, they may learn to live a wholesome life without magic,” he paused, turning to gesture to Gaius with his good arm, “like you have.”

Gaius dug into the wound with his thumb and made Uther gasp. 

“Apologies, sire.”

The next night a bloody battle ensued over the Crystal of Neahtid. Warriors and warlocks alike were felled ungraciously by one another, clamoring like a stallion at a race gate to give their lives over claim to the mysterious artifact. Despite Uther’s prodding Gaius did not admit what he knew about the crystal, so it was taken instead to the vaults for the king’s morbid collection. 

“What a frivolous thing,” Uther had murmured mostly to himself, voice hollow and drained, “to lay your life down for a useless piece of rock.” Gaius tasted blood as he bit his lip to avoid crying over the many innocent lives lost.

Then was the arrival of the Questing Beast. 

It happened quickly and without warning. Alarm bells crashed against the cacophony of bellowing men and a sound reminiscent of one hundred barking dogs. Clangs and shouts of fear echoed off the polished bricks of the citadel as the creature’s strike was met by a wall of interlocked shields.

Gaius had no time to search for Uther in the calamity, instead rushing from his chambers with a satchel full of basic remedies to patch up the wounded men on the edges of the street. Occasionally he would whisper healing words to passed-out soldiers, his eyes flashing gold in the shadow of the surrounding towers.

That’s when he saw it — a massive beast with the body of a jaguar and the head of a cobra; it was the height of a man and had claws razor-sharp. Its fangs glinted with the light of death upon them. 

The knights’ spears bounced off the creature’s hide like a stem of hay hitting a stone wall. Anyone who dared get close enough to impale the beast with a sword was quickly disposed of by a single swipe of its massive paw. It was obvious to Gaius that this was a creature that could only be slain by magic. In that moment he knew Uther had but one choice, and Uther seemed to know it too.

The king acted quickly and decisively, shouting commands from where he sat armored upon his horse with sword in hand. “Go now, quickly, to the homes of the dragonlords!” he ordered, and the knights with the fastest horses obeyed. 

The return of the knights was accompanied by several horse-mounted men of varying stature and attire, some wearing the clothing of merchants or farmers and others wearing robes of nobility. When they shouted their ancient words, a tongue foreign even to Gaius, the sound rivaled that of the Questing Beast’s dog-bark yowling.

“On me!” the king commanded, and upon that order all the knights retreated from the beast and took up ranks behind Uther’s steed. The beast crouched, prepared to strike, but was interrupted by a deafening roar from above. 

A green-scaled dragon alighted with a thud before the Questing Beast, screeching its challenge. The rush of air that accompanied the movement of several giant pairs of wings caused rubble on the street to fly into the air and a torrent of wind to draw the breath from anyone who attempted to speak or cry out. A dozen dragons circled overhead, creating a great whirlwind in the city square.

The only ones unaffected by the windstorm were the dragonlords, who continued to shout commands to the mythic creatures who awaited above.

“Drive it out of the city!” Gaius thought he heard Uther shout, though it was impossible to tell from the whipping of his hair against his ears.

The order must’ve been heard by one of the dragonlords across the square, because the men split into two groups and lined their horses along the farthest edges of the street to allow room for the Beast and the green dragon to pass. A scrawny-looking young man with dark skin and hair commanded the dragon, and the dragon’s breath sparked into a stream of fire toward the Questing Beast. Together the Beast and the dragon broke into a run down the main road, through the gates of the square into the marketplace and upper town. 

From above the menagerie of dragons in several shapes and colors swooped down to strike the Beast as it ran, driving it onward in the direction of the city walls. The dragonlords commanded them to defeat the Beast so the dragons would dutifully oblige. The dragonlords failed to specify, though, that the Beast should be defeated without civilian casualty or property damage. 

Legend said that the Questing Beast was a harbinger of destruction, an omen of great darkness soon to come. None could have guessed that the omen was meant as the downfall of dragonkind.

Just as quickly as Uther had thanked the dragonlords for their part in slaying the Questing Beast, the king demanded they be held responsible for what the dragons left in the wake of their pursuit. Carts, stalls, and barrels burned, structures were reduced to rubble, and homes collapsed with unsuspecting commonfolk inside them. The wind generated by two dozen flapping wings felled shacks and snapped the necks of tethered livestock. For these crimes all the dragonlords involved in that day’s events were hanged. What was left of this race of men fell into hiding immediately after, the once-renowned warlocks now reduced to hermits like all the others. In the years that followed, they were all eventually hunted down and slain like beasts at the hands of knights on the king’s order or by vigilante citizens seeking revenge for the destruction of Camelot. All, it seemed, but one. 

  
  


Balinor was a sturdy man, Gaius always thought, with a prominent brow and figure hard like a stone carving. His deep-set brown eyes were portals to his inner self, opening up like cupped hands to reveal his heart as delicate as a baby bird. For all his talent formed at such a young age he was well-known, so his absence was stark in the hunt for dragonlords.

In the past Gaius had always admired his honesty, his face always revealing the truth of his thoughts and his words spoken as plainly as a soldier. Though for all the strength and power he carried, Balinor was a man much too soft and trusting. Gaius had learned by now not to trust wholeheartedly. Balinor, naive and never in love, hadn’t the opportunity to learn such lessons. 

So when King Uther called upon him, sending word to all corners of Camelot that his presence was urgently requested, Balinor emerged from the shadows readily. 

  
  


“You don’t have to do this,” Gaius begged, though he felt his words run off of Uther like water off a smooth stone. “It’s been _two years_ since the Questing Beast was slain. You’ve captured and killed nearly every dragon in Albion, some of which weren’t even involved in the destruction that day. These creatures are not like bucks in the forest, sire, they hold knowledge and wisdom beyond that of any man or beast.” He felt his eyes stinging with tears, though he did not let them fall. He tightened his fists at his sides to mimic the tightening in his chest. “You mustn’t.”

“I must, Gaius,” Uther growled, his own voice tight as if he were barely resisting an urge to shout or to strike Gaius down, or both. “For Camelot.” This was a phrase he spoke often now, likely to reassure himself that he wasn’t the tyrant the townspeople now rumored him to be. “It must be done if we are to eradicate the deadly plague of magic from this land.” He did not look at Gaius as he spoke, instead staring pointedly over the ears of his horse as Gaius’s gelding trailed closely behind. “And who knows, Gaius, perhaps when I am done I will become renowned as the savior of all of Albion.”

With that the king adjusted his crown upon his head, pulled his gloves snugly over his wrist, and dismounted his steed with an air of feigned dignity. Gaius watched from a distance as the event unfolded, dismounting and tying the horses and wondering if he appeared to them as small and helpless as he felt. 

Balinor knelt before the king, but Uther bid him to stand and meet his eyes. Their words were inaudible to Gaius, but it was easy to see on Balinor’s face that Uther was making a convincing apology. They placed their hands on one another’s shoulders, nodded, and embraced. Despite all his dealings with the king over the past few years, Gaius was always surprised by how easily just a few words could turn a man against his own will. 

It happened quickly. Balinor turned away from Uther to face the clearing upon the edge of which they stood, closing his eyes to take a few deep breaths. Then he spoke the words, guttural and harsh, and waited. 

It took only a few minutes for the dragon to appear, its golden scales set aflame by the setting sun, then only moments longer for Uther to shout his orders into the treeline. With a unified battle cry a slew of knights erupted from the forest’s edge, surrounding the Great Dragon from all sides. Balinor looked on in horror, stumbling backward and collapsing onto the grass. The dragon roared, catching a great many trees on fire, as the men fired harpoons trailed by chains over the beast and pulled them tight on the other side, pinning its wings. 

Gaius wanted right then to join the fray, him and Balinor and the dragon against Uther’s strongest band of knights, but as soon as the thought occurred to him the dragon’s voice from that distant night on the mountain resounded in his mind as if it had only just been spoken — _Do not interfere_. When he looked up at the dragon’s face he found it was staring right at him, making eye contact.

It was then that he knew. His place was at Uther’s side, and always would be. His role was to remain under the king’s nose, keeping him oblivious to the magic he could never truly snuff out. Subtly, carefully, he could nurture the seeds of doubt in Uther’s mind, to convince him that this was not the only way. But he could not see his part in the Prophecy through if he swung from the gallows. 

So instead Gaius hurried a few paces away from the frantic horses, ducking behind the trunk of a tree felled by the dragon’s tail. With his mind he reached out to his fellow warlock, planting thoughts into his head like a voice of reason. 

_‘The king’s horses are unattended,’_ he prompted, _‘in the eastern treeline. Use them to escape. Hurry now, leave Camelot. Hunith of Ealdor will help you.’_

Balinor must have heard his message, because suddenly he whipped his head to the east and rushed to his feet, bolting for the clearing’s border before any soldiers would take notice. Even Uther himself was caught up in the capture of the golden drake. When Balinor arrived at the horses’ post he calmed them with hushed tones and a firm pat on the neck, taking a moment to look around in search of the voice who had guided him. But Gaius did not make himself known, so quickly Balinor untied the reins of the bannerless servant horse and fled.

Uther never spoke of Balinor again, for he was not the prize of the king’s deception. Instead he reveled in the capture of the Great Dragon, the last dragon in Albion. Feasts and celebrations on the square were held for three days to commemorate the downfall of the ancient race. Gaius spent most of it wretching into his chamber pot in a failed attempt to rid himself of the knot in his stomach.

The celebration marked the end of what would later be called the Great Purge, though sorcerers and druids were still occasionally caught, tried, and executed over the years. Gaius had to concoct a vial of sleeping draught stronger than any other he’d ever made just to get through the nightmares he had each night. Occasionally he’d share his potion with Uther when he caught him with eyes redder and cheeks wetter than other nights, lying together with him until the blackness of dreamless sleep overtook them both. 

In the following years, Gaius and Uther both turned a large portion of their attention to raising Prince Arthur in a safe and comfortable environment. Uther grew up a soldier and Gaius grew up in service to others; if Arthur was to make a great king, he would need to know how to do both. For a moment they were almost happy, teaching the boy to read and how to hold a sword, how to speak with respect and to always put duty first. His natural kindness and reverence for living things, however, came completely on its own. When Arthur gently touched the petals of a flower or snuck scraps from the kitchens to feed to a stray dog, Gaius saw a glimpse of Uther’s reflection puddled in the prince’s blue eyes. 

Compared to the seemingly endless days and sleepless nights of the Purge, the eight years without war passed in the blink of an eye. Only when another witch was captured or a creature killed did the memories of those dark times come flooding back. Still, it pained Gaius every time to see Uther’s self-loathing driving him to cruelty masked as protection for his child. 

“Arthur cannot grow up in a place of danger,” he’d say, “of uncertainty at every turn. We must remind him that magic cannot be trusted.”

Gaius made a point to tuck in Arthur to his bed on each of those nights, his eyes flashing amber to rid the sleeping prince of the memory of the day’s executions. 

A few times he and Uther managed to fool themselves into thinking they were happy together, content to ignore the crippling pain of living through each day. Raising a child was gratifying and sparked a kind of love that simply could not be experienced in any other situation. They fell into an echo of their old routine, sneaking down the hallways like mischievous boys and disrobing one another urgently as if the sun would come up and chase them into their respective roles hours too soon. They slept together, cherishing the warmth of bodies pressed together in a shared bed. Separating before dawn and waking to the hollowness of their respective chambers by morning reminded them both that this was only a ruse, however – a lie to keep their hatred of one another and of themselves at bay. 

On the nights following executions their meeting was rough and laced with anger. Uther began to demand that pain be inflicted upon him and Gaius relished the power of giving it. He was harsh and unforgiving, shedding his political complacency and guilt-riddled obedience to reveal absolute control in its stead. He asked not for permission. He took pleasure in punishing the king for his tyranny, for his heinous acts, for his betrayal. The mornings after left Uther visibly aching and Gaius refused to sleep those nights in the king’s bed, reminded too much of the rift between them that could not be mended no matter how much they wanted to forget it.

Then, as if there were not reminders enough of Uther’s role in the demolition of Camelot’s trust in its king, there came another war. In the fight against Cambia several loyal knights were slain, among them Sir Gorlois. With his death came a surge of crushing dread that left the king sleepless for several nights.

It was another confession that went without saying; in all honesty Gaius had forgotten about Uther’s affair until the king formally announced that he would take the House of Gorlois’s orphaned child into the castle as his own ward. Then the truth was glaring: Lady Morgana was the king’s bastard, a physical manifestation of the consequences of Uther’s selfish actions.

With this truth came a second, more dangerous revelation: a child with the blood of magic would be raised in the home of Albion’s most merciless king, always within sword’s reach. Soon after her arrival Gaius set Morgana on a nightly routine of potions that served both to ease her nightmares and to dampen her propensity for magic, for her own good. If he could protect at least one life, it would be hers – an innocent girl with nothing but love for the world and for knowledge. 

She reminded him of Alice, in a way. She was fiery and always spoke her mind even when it got her in trouble. She loved to read and often spent hours tucked away in a dusty corner of the castle’s library. From time to time Gaius slipped texts describing the atrocities of the Great Purge into her schoolbooks in hopes she may one day learn to stand up against Uther’s injustices in a way he could never brave himself. 

Gaius became well-practiced in hiding Morgana’s magical abilities from the court by the time the Great Dragon’s predictions came into being. When he received a letter from his sister describing her son’s developing powers, he gladly accepted her offer to take him in and teach him to control his magic. Handling one child’s magic for the last decade was easy enough; one more couldn’t be too difficult. And even on the first day Merlin arrived in Camelot, Gaius knew this young man was the great sorcerer of prophecy. And he knew, deeply and undoubtedly, that he loved him like a son. 

Gaius took it upon himself to protect the future of Camelot by shielding these children from Uther’s bloodlust. He worked day and night to prevent Morgana’s magical abilities from coming to fruition. He did his best to ensure Merlin’s misadventures never resulted in his execution, no matter how much Merlin seemed to be enamored with getting himself into mortal peril. When he tended to Arthur’s training wounds, he subtly reinforced the prince’s sense of justice and encouraged him to speak his doubts of Uther’s militant rule. Fate was in Gaius’s hands now and his sense of duty replenished him, allowing him to pour his loyalty and his devotion into these three young people in hopes they may one day return Albion to its former glory.

There were times, of course, when Gaius felt the teachings of his former master creeping into his mind, an instinct to protect the king at all costs no matter how he felt about him personally. With all they’d been through he was allowed a little grace to be bluntly honest with Uther from time to time on political matters. As a physician he was tasked with curing all the king’s ailments with confidentiality and impartiality, including magical ones.

Every time he felt that there may be a chance to open Uther’s mind to the concept that not all magical creatures were monsters, another justified magic-user retaliated against Uther’s actions in the Great Purge, only solidifying his resolve in that sorcery was evil. Nimueh poisoned the drinking supply. A griffin attacked Camelot. Edwin Muirden attempted to kill Uther in retaliation for his parents’ deaths, sowing mistrust of Gaius’s judgement along the way. Tristan de Bois, the queen’s older brother, was risen from the grave after swearing he would return to see Uther’s head on the end of a sword for his part in Ygraine’s death. A troll attempted to trick the king into marrying him. A goblin possessed Gaius and nearly got him killed after all the hard work he had put in to protect Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana all this time. 

But through it all he remained steadfast in his dedication to Uther, in his hope and desperation for him to see the light. He knew all along that Uther would never be the king Gaius wanted him to be. He would never be the king Camelot deserved. But still Gaius clung to his memory of the boy by the well, to the glimpses of Uther’s smile when Arthur told a clever joke, to the spark of what once was. If Gaius was to be known for anything after his passing it would be his unyielding faith in the potential of others. 

So through it all was Gaius, standing by Uther’s side. They performed a careful dance of deception with one another, being both truthful and deceitful at once, both longing to be together and knowing that Uther’s atrocities were too unforgivable to ignore. It was a push and pull, a strategic game in which there were no winners. Gaius swore that he would never let the same fate befall Arthur and Merlin. 

  
  


It did not take long for the two young men to take to one another. Gaius could see quite clearly the concern of Merlin’s face every time Arthur faced an enemy and he could nearly feel in his own heart the same tension he had experienced when Uther set out onto the battlefield as a fledgling soldier. He could hear it in Merlin’s quavering voice – his overwhelming emotion, his sense of duty, his loyalty, his deep affection, his heartbreak at the thought of some ill fate befalling the prince. On uncertain nights it troubled him to see Merlin’s heart so full and his mind burdened with thoughts of prophecy and destiny, fate and morality. The strings of Fate always become tangled when the one with whom your future is entwined is also the person with whom you are in love.

When Merlin came to him for advice, asking him how he would act in such a situation, Gaius felt the pull of those tangled strings more than ever. 

  
  


“The dragon says I should let him die,” Merlin muttered, pacing back and forth across their precious little floor space in the common area of their shared chambers, “but if I were to let that happen, I would be just like him.” He shook his head, brow stitched together in apprehension, then decidedly halted and turned to make eye contact with Gaius, who looked on from a nearby bench. “I don’t want to be like him.”

Gaius could barely hear him speak for the pounding of his heart in his ears nearly drowned out the words. Was this truly what the Triple Goddess demanded? Was this the path of Merlin’s destiny or was the dragon manipulating an innocent boy for the sake of revenge? Did Uther truly have to die? To be _murdered?_ The thought alone was enough to turn his stomach so he clutched his middle to keep himself from swaying.

Around his dry tongue Gaius managed to croak the words, “You’re not like him.”

That statement, if any, was quite true. Merlin was the farthest person from Uther’s personality of anyone Gaius could think of. Merlin, he noted, was also quite different from himself. In the back of his mind Gaius pondered, then, if he was perhaps a closer reflection of Uther than he would care to admit, similar to him in ways that shook him to his very bones. 

“You’re right,” said Merlin, his voice cutting through the fog of Gaius’s thoughts. “Then I must stop her before it is too late.”

How quickly things change. In that moment, Merlin rushed out the door decisively toward an action that would surely shape the mold of destiny. In only a few days past, King Uther executed an innocent man – one of the kingdom’s finest blacksmiths and the father of Lady Morgana’s personal handmaiden of several years – on account of merely consorting with a known sorcerer. The night after, the handmaiden slept in Merlin and Gaius’s chambers for fear of being attacked by the sorcerer who threatened her father. That same night, Gaius had heard whispers from the castle guards that Uther had locked away Morgana in the dungeon for speaking out against the injustice of it all. He remained awake until dawn, furious and terrified, sitting trembling on the edge of his bed and fighting the urge to march right into Uther’s bedroom and scream until his breath had left him or swing his fists until they met flesh and bone.

How could Uther even _fathom_ the idea of imprisoning Morgana? She was not a bearer of magic as far as the king was aware and she had no relations to anyone who practiced magic. This was no longer his self-justified pursuit of revenge for Ygraine. This was tyranny, plain and clear. He was willing to imprison or kill _anyone_ who questioned him, no matter their adherence to the law or closeness to him. 

But even a tyrant, he was Uther Pendragon. He was the boy by the well. He was the victorious soldier. He was the wayward prince who reclaimed the throne with cunning and bravery. He was Gaius’s first love. Gaius could not, in that moment, bear the thought of seeing him killed. He was grateful to Merlin’s pure heart and clear mind, for Gaius could not have made such a decision as the boy had made tonight. 

  
  


How nearly ironic it was, Gaius thought now, to remember that confusion he felt, that dread, of losing Uther to assassination, when in the end it truly was Uther’s destiny.

All that time ago Merlin had stopped Morgana from killing the king, but no one could have stopped the roots of bitter hatred that took hold of her heart on that night. Although it may have been years later, she cast the final blow in the end. She shattered his mind, severed his soul, and eventually stopped his heart. In the end it was Morgana, a child born of Uther’s mistakes and a never-ending reflection of regrets. In the end the weight of her loathing cracked open the hardened shell around Uther’s heart and sent forth a flood of all his self-hatred, all his pain, and all his loss at once. No mortal man could bear such a thing, not even Uther. 

Gaius pondered all of this and more as he stood outside the throne room, awaiting Arthur and Merlin’s arrival. He didn’t need to see Uther like this. He didn’t want it. His brow was deeply knotted as he thought of it. His heart felt clenched and his chest felt tight as if he hadn’t taken in a breath since Uther’s last one was drawn.   
  


As the court physician, Gaius was the first to see him after his death and before his presentation for the final rites. He sat in his bed, perfectly still, like all the times Gaius had left him sleeping soundly in the early hours just before dawn. He had looked down at that face so many times before, eyes closed and face relaxed, the face Uther made outside of the turmoils he faced in wakefulness. He had brushed his fingers gingerly over the stubble on Uther’s face and across his lips, the warmth of his breath lulling Gaius to sleep as they lie together. 

This time it was different. Uther’s face was pale and bloodless, his lips tinted blue and his eyelids heavily shut. His hair was set awry from his previous months of ill hygiene. His cheeks were hollow. He looked old. 

It was then that Gaius realized they were old men, catapulted through life at torrentous speeds in order to outrun the horrid deeds they left in their wake. Uther had outrun his demons until they killed him, finally circling their merciless claws around his throat and pressing down. Gaius, now, could no longer shield his own actions behind the curtain of Uther’s misdeeds. He could no longer convince himself that what he had done was any less horrible than what Uther had done – the slaughter of innocent men, women, and children was Uther’s doing, but Gaius had stood by and watched it happen without comment. They had fallen together into this endless pit of monstrosity, hopelessly entangled with one another and always one pulling the other further down in a desperate attempt to climb back to the surface. 

With a heavy sigh, he sat down upon the king’s bed for a final time, eyes affixed firmly to the far wall. “It’s funny, you know,” he said, his voice hoarse and strained around the lump in his throat, “how similar they are to you and I.”

“Arthur and Merlin remind me so much of the two of us when we were young. Arthur is headstrong and impulsive, but always true to what he believes is right. Merlin is always there by Arthur’s side, making sure he doesn’t get himself killed and reminding him that he does not have to walk the difficult path alone.”

A small, amused huff jumped from his chest in a way that nearly sounded like a laugh. “Though I don’t think we are like them anymore, sire.” Gaius turned to face Uther now, brows furrowed thoughtfully. “How did we end up like this, Uther?” he breathed.

“At every turn we walked deeper into darkness. At every fork in the road we took the darker path. I know you knew it. I know you saw it, but you simply couldn’t resist the temptation. It was easier to be hated by the world and steel yourself in defense of it than to recognize how much you hated yourself, how much you agreed with them. In all honesty, Uther, I agreed with them too from time to time.” He shook his head then, his frown growing tight to keep his lip from quivering.

“And all this time we should have been looking to them. Merlin and Arthur are beacons of light in our dark world. These boys could have pulled us from this darkness at any moment had we taken their hands even once. I know you knew that too. In the end, I think you could see it. You came out of your chambers, out of that hole in which you’d buried yourself deep in your mind, to celebrate the prince’s birthday. You knew, even after all this time, that he was special to you and that you don’t deserve him.”

Gaius didn’t realize until he tasted salt on his tongue that tears had begun to stream down his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth. “All this time, Uther, we could have been letting them guide us. We could have given up our places in the world to allow them to shine brighter. We could have allowed them to make all of Albion a better place. We could have put the Purge behind us and sought peace at last. But we did not. You refused. I ignored the possibility of it as long as you still stood. But it is time now. It is time.”

He had stayed there for a long while, sitting on Uther’s bed. He allowed himself to cry and to mourn, although for exactly whom or what he was unsure. At one point he nearly expected Uther’s hand to reach out and touch his own, to remind him of the warmth he once felt in this bed. But Uther did not reach out, and Gaius did not feel warmth. 

He didn’t feel the warmth he saw on Merlin’s cheeks or the sparkle in his eye when he spoke of Arthur’s most recent adventure. He didn’t smile the same smile that Merlin did when Arthur said something terribly clever or incredibly stupid. He didn’t feel that exhilarated lurching in his chest the way that Merlin felt when he and Arthur snuck into quiet corners to steal kisses in broad daylight or when their knuckles brushed just so as they stood side by side at gatherings.

But Gaius knew what it was like to experience true love, so he knew how Merlin felt. 

  
  


When the two arrived at the throne room for visitation, Gaius pulled open the door and nodded solemnly to Arthur as he passed. As he shut the door he turned to Merlin, who looked just as crestfallen as Arthur, and gave him a comforting squeeze on the shoulders. He took him to a nearby bench and sat down with him, allowing him to speak his mind. 

“Merlin?” he prompted, reaching out to briefly squeeze Merlin’s hand. 

“This is all my fault. I killed him,” Merlin replied weakly, his wide doe eyes welled to the brim with tears. 

“You did not kill Uther,” he countered, his tone nearly reprimanding, “Morgana did. Uther’s spirit died when she broke his heart.” To himself he noted that there may not have been much of Uther’s spirit left anyhow. “You must look to the future. Uther’s death will allow Arthur’s progression to the throne. You must hope it brings stability and peace to the land.” 

Merlin shook his head, unmoved by Gaius’s words. “Magic will still be outlawed. I’ve turned Arthur against it forever. He’ll never know who I really am.” 

To Gaius it seemed that Arthur may have been the only one who ever _could_ truly know Merlin. “That time will come, I’m sure of it,” he said, and he meant it wholeheartedly. If he could not forgive himself for his part in the Great Purge, he could at least allow himself solace in knowing he heeded the dragon’s words and allowed for Albion to be restored by Arthur with Merlin at his side.

A flash of Uther’s smile cut through his mind like an unseen blade, followed by images of all the times Uther was hurt, all the nights he lay awake, all the nights Gaius was there to comfort him, to keep him whole. “Arthur will be under even more pressure now that he’s king. He will need you more than ever.” 

More than anything, Arthur would need Merlin’s love to support him, a pillar unmoved by the elements and unchanging throughout all time. And Gaius would be there to support Merlin, no longer shrouded by his own cowardice and indecision. 

“There’s nothing more to be done,” Gaius said after a few moments of contemplative silence, standing and offering his hand to Merlin. “Let’s go and have some supper.”

Merlin looked up at him, staunch and sincere as he always was when Arthur’s troubles occupied his mind, and shook his head again. “I think I’ll wait here.” 

Gaius couldn’t help but smile, then, at the devotion the young sorcerer felt for his king. He left in silence, lost in thought, as he contemplated Merlin and Arthur and the prophecy and the future. Within those few words Merlin had spoken, Gaius was certain that for Camelot there would never be another unjust king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Thanks for sticking it out with me to the end! The idea for this fic came to me when I watched that scene of Gaius and Merlin talking referenced in this chapter, and all the other stuff kinda just came out of nowhere and into my brain. This is the longest fic I've ever written by far, so I'm really happy to have completed it! I really enjoyed getting to explore the idea of gritty relationships and what comes after romance is gone. I hope you enjoyed reading it!


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